As she looked around the dungeon, Marie knew she was finally somewhere that appealed to her delicate sense of aesthetic. Previous attempts by lovers to introduce her to the BDSM scene had resulted in fear and revulsion. Hot steamy clubs filled with sweating, straining bodies were not her style. She had an interest in pleasure and pain, however. Years of agonizing pain as a ballerina had let her understand the beauty that can be found in pain. Victor seemed to understand that about her. He listened carefully when she had described her disappointment in previous attempts to attend play parties. He asked her to come to one of his special events and as she looked around she knew that so far this, this was something different indeed.
Her eyes asked questions as she looked up at Victor and her look became more confused as she saw what was in his hand. He led her out of the change-room and into the dungeon. It was a large room hung with dangerously depraved tapestries in dark hues. At one end of the room was a balcony overlooking the party below. Delightful vignettes of BDSM met her eyes everywhere she turned. The furniture was exquisite, the outfits were sublime. But soon her attention was consumed by Victor.
Victor led her to the end of the room and stood her beneath the balcony. He was holding a strange cross-shaped piece of wood with thin black ropes attached to it. These ropes he proceeded to tie delicately about her wrists and ankles. Then he threw the wooden contraption, ropes attached, up over the railing of the balcony.
“You are so beautiful,” he purred, “My beautiful dancer, my very own.” And then he walked away.
Marie stood, unsure of what to do next. She looked down, still confused by the ropes about her wrists and ankles. Then she looked up at the balcony just in time to see Victor appear at the edge. He picked up the ropes and pulled. Gently he worked the ropes, pulling until she stood on pointe, arms raised gracefully above her.
“Now at last, you will dance for me, my beautiful Marie, my beautiful marionette.” He called down, and at last she understood. Her smile lit her eyes and she danced as he controlled her movements across the end of the room.
Her eyes asked questions as she looked up at Victor and her look became more confused as she saw what was in his hand. He led her out of the change-room and into the dungeon. It was a large room hung with dangerously depraved tapestries in dark hues. At one end of the room was a balcony overlooking the party below. Delightful vignettes of BDSM met her eyes everywhere she turned. The furniture was exquisite, the outfits were sublime. But soon her attention was consumed by Victor.
Victor led her to the end of the room and stood her beneath the balcony. He was holding a strange cross-shaped piece of wood with thin black ropes attached to it. These ropes he proceeded to tie delicately about her wrists and ankles. Then he threw the wooden contraption, ropes attached, up over the railing of the balcony.
“You are so beautiful,” he purred, “My beautiful dancer, my very own.” And then he walked away.
Marie stood, unsure of what to do next. She looked down, still confused by the ropes about her wrists and ankles. Then she looked up at the balcony just in time to see Victor appear at the edge. He picked up the ropes and pulled. Gently he worked the ropes, pulling until she stood on pointe, arms raised gracefully above her.
“Now at last, you will dance for me, my beautiful Marie, my beautiful marionette.” He called down, and at last she understood. Her smile lit her eyes and she danced as he controlled her movements across the end of the room.
